


Sinful Notions

by stormbornbxtch



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerys is the mad king but not mad in the way you're thinking, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Bank Robbery, Crimes & Criminals, F/F, F/M, Minor Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Minor Jojen Reed/Bran Stark, Minor Rickon Stark/Shireen Baratheon, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Minor Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Minor Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth, Modern Era, Organized Crime, Prostitution, aemon is his brother, basically game of thrones but modern mafia/crime style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbornbxtch/pseuds/stormbornbxtch
Summary: Jon Snow is a former hitman. Jailed for three years after his final mission where he underestimated a greater enemy. Now, freed from prisons he stands in the middle of Dothraki country with no way contacting the people he loves and he's left with very little options. Until he meets Daenerys Storm, a woman with secrets of her own who may need his help just as much as he needs her's.●°•°●Kinda a Bonnie and Clyde meets Mafia AU of sorts.I'm not good at descriptions but please give my fic a chance.





	1. The Mad Dragon Burns The Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue

[Sinful Notions Prologue ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161441232@N05/45903032874/in/dateposted-public/)

 

"Robb, we shouldn't do this.”

 

Jon had a feeling.

 

The kind of feeling that sunk in just minutes before Catelyn Stark, his late father's wife, opened the front door on December 18th, 2003, two weeks after his youngest brother  was born. Jon was twelve, but it didn't take some rocket scientist to know that something was wrong. Two cops stood on the other side, sullen expressions on their faces as they delivered the news of Ned Starks' murder.

 

His body had been found in the bottom of the east river just outside of Westerlands, a bullet wound in the center of his forehead. Courtesy of the Lannister clan.  Ned had owed them and Jon could never figure out what, but he had heard enough of his parents arguing about it late at night when the others were sleeping to know enough. He learned later on that in this business, The Lannisters always had their debts paid, one way or another. No one could prove it was them but Jon knew, Jon always knew.

 

He had the kind of feeling that sunk in right before Rickon showed up at their front door twelve years later, bloodied and bruised with an officer gripping his right arm. He was being charged with assault and battery.  Some poor kid was talking shit about their family, specifically their father and Rickon, well he had put him in the hospital. Jon had known he was struggling with his anger, he just didn't know the full extent of it.

 

Unfortunately, the kid's family were a bunch of pricks he didn't want to just let shit go and accept their money for his hospital bills. They got his twelve year old brother persecuted to the fullest extent of the law, five years in Juvie. He was just a kid, an angry kid but still, they hadn’t cared. He's only been in there a year but Jon barely recognized the kid he saw every time he visited. It was changing him and Jon hated it.

 

Jon had the same kind of feeling that sunk in right before Bran went to his final fight.  He had gotten involved in the underground fighting scene when he was sixteen, Jon and Robb were just starting their work for Robert. Neither of them were around long enough to keep him out of it  or to even know he was in it.

 

Jon remembered him taking boxing lessons with him, Arya and Robb growing up. He just thought he wanted to learn how to defend himself, not take the anger he felt for dad's death and Rickon's imprisonment out in the ring. Especially underground ones.

 

When he finally got word of what his little brother was up to, Bran was in too deep to get out. He had a lot of bets on him and Jon hated to admit it, but he was good. Could've been great even. If he just backed out of that fucking fight like Jon had told him too, he might’ve made it all the way to the top.

 

He and Robb had been trying to properly train him whenever they were available, make sure he was prepared enough to not end up dead. However neither of them could’ve prepared him for The Mountain. Bran was good in the ring but he was still just a rookie. The Mountain was undefeated and most of his matches ended with his opponent in a stretcher or worse.

 

Bran had been no different.  

 

Jon knew he wasn't going to win, he knew it. He told him to get out of it, back out at any cost but Bran told him that his boss wouldn't let him leave. They had too much money riding on the fight for him to quit. He should've seen right through his bullshit, afterwards he and Brienne had a chat. She had wanted him out, tried to convince to not do it, but Bran wanted to win, like he had something to prove.

 

His older brothers and Arya had tried to teach him how to prevent heavy damage in the months leading up to it.  None of them were naive enough to believe he had a chance at victory. Bran however, was. He overexerted himself in the first round and then did the unthinkable in the second.

 

He got stupid, cocky even when he thought he'd almost knocked his opponent out in the first round. He hadn't, Jon knew he didn't even come close, that The Mountain was playing him. Bran just wouldn’t listen.

 

His head was too big, couldn't even recognize the simple strategy his opponent had to wear him down until it was too late.  His overconfidence mixed with The Mountain's skill set and hunger for blood were a bad combination. A terrible one and Jon had watched in horror as his younger brother was lifted into the air when he had stupidly turned his back, only to hear sickening crunch as Bran came back down seconds later, his spine coming  in contact with the mountain's knee.

 

He hadn't walked since.

 

Jon had that  feeling the night before Sansa's wedding. Ramsay Bolton wasn’t a good man. In fact, he was a sick man who somehow managed to charm his little sister. He convinced her that what they had was love and that it would last forever. In truth, he was an emotional manipulator who abused her psychologically whenever she dared to challenge him.  He hated him, but somehow he was the only one who saw through Ramsay's facade of playing the nice guy.

 

His sister, poor naive Sansa, thought he was the prince who had come to save her from the tragedies life had bestowed on her. Jon however, wasn't blinded by infatuation like she was.  Ramsay had this unsettling energy to him, an energy that shone bright in his cold detached eyes. Plus the fact that he was several years older than her didn't help either. Sansa was barely a woman and Ramsay knew just what to say to manipulate her adolescent mind to do whatever he wanted.

 

No matter what he said, she wouldn't listen.

 

Maybe if Robb had been there and not on one of Baratheon's errands, the two of them would've succeeded in talking her out of the wedding and getting her away from Ramsay. Unfortunately it was just Jon and he didn't stand a chance.

 

Sansa had never taken a liking to him and if Jon saw a problem with something, Catelyn made it her mission to endorse it.  The woman was so blinded by her hatred of Jon that she allowed her own daughter to marry someone as vile as Ramsay Bolton.

 

Sansa practically worshipped the ground her mother walked on and so if she made it a point to breath her encouragement down her neck, Sansa thought she must've been right.

 

They left for their two week honeymoon right after the wedding.

 

That was six months ago.

 

That feeling. He knew it all too well.

 

They shouldn't do this.

 

"Look Jon, if we bail on this, Baratheon is gonna have Arya and mom's head on a platter by morning. We owe him. We can't back out now, I don't care how fucking nervous you ar-"

 

"I'm not nervous."

 

It's true, he wasn't. Jon didn't get nervous on jobs, not since he was a kid. He knew the layout pf the plan inside and out, he studied that bar like a pastor did the bible. Making sure he knew every nook and cranny in the same way an ant knew it’s hill. He perfected his technique, knew just when and how to get in and when and how to get out.

 

He knew every detail he could possibly get about this hit's life, he knew what he ate for breakfast, how he liked his coffee, what his kids names were, what secretary he was cheating on his wife with. He even knew this guy's fucking blood type. Best of all, he knew what he had done just to piss Robert Baratheon off. He had learned everything that anyone could possible know about Aerys Targaryen. Or maybe he had learned just about anything anyone could uncover about Aerys Targaryen,

 

He knew that his hit was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them, mad maybe but not stupid. He had managed to survive decades without getting caught by any of his vast and many powerful enemies. Yet Jon was supposed to believe that he and Robb could take him out in a matter of seconds? That somehow, Robert Baratheon had finally got the man who had been outsmarting him since they were school children right where he wanted him?

 

Aerys Targaryen was a dangerously intelligent man, the only reason Jon had managed to get so much information about his life was because he kept a pristine public image. Hidden in plain sight, the medical and police files that he had managed to uncover for this man could have easily been faked. Aerys was good at obtaining a facade and he was thorough, never left a trace. He had this massive hotel corporation that covered for his drug empire, Jon never would’ve known about it if Robert hadn’t told him.

 

He was going off of Robert’s word and Robert’s word only. He hadn’t managed to scrounge a single shred of this man’s empire. The closest thing he had found on the dark web was a dragon symbol, burned into the ground of a mexican city square. That was it.

 

He was good.

 

Not good, he was immaculate.

 

The only thing he had on his record was a speeding ticket he got when he was sixteen. To do the things that Aerys Targaryen had been speculated of doing and to have not a shread of evidence against you, you had to be intelligent. Maybe even a genius.

 

Jon knew he had only managed to find out the things Aerys wanted him to know.

 

That was unnerving.

 

It felt too easy. The complex, intricate plan that they had been crafting for months,  felt too fucking easy.

 

Jon wasn't nervous.

 

He was skeptical.

 

And he had a feeling.

 

A feeling he knew by now to trust.

 

"Robb, we can't-"

 

"Jon, we're doing this. We've planned out this exact scenario for months, down to every miniscule detail. The longest time either one of us has ever spent on a hit. This is the one we have the most riding on, the one that counts. We are doing it."

 

Jon could see the certainty in Robb's eyes and hear the finality in his tone, it was no use arguing with him.

 

Robb's mind was set, there was no going back. Especially now.

 

Jon's thumb ran over the cool metal hiding behind the breast pocket of his jacket. He could feel the outline of the trigger in his fingers, hands running over the ridges and intricate designs of the pistol. It brought a strange comfort to his being. He had learned that every great fighter would eventually come across a greater opponent. It was better to be a cautious skilled man than an arrogant expert.

 

He had never been a big fan of guns, knives and hand to hand combat were always his strong suit. Unfortunately, this was a quick job. It needed speed and precision, not strength and physical action.

 

A bullet was the only way to go.

 

Robb was the one pulling the trigger but Jon was the distraction and potential backup if his brother somehow fucked up his one and only task. It was just a precaution, his brother had never missed. Baratheon had called him the wold with the eagle eyes. IN other words he was the Amwolf, same meaning with fewer words.

 

The more kills he had, the more he solidified his name. Robb was a marksman, one of the best. If not the best, while Jon, he was the fighter. The lone wolf, he had been fighting since he was a kid and when he was fifteen Baratheon had taken him under his wing. Trained him to be the weapon that he was to this day.

 

Robb had two hundred and thirty eight kills under his belt, Jon’s number was higher. He didn’t like to keep track but he knew it was higher. His older brother’s skillset didn’t even require him to come within ten feet of the victim and although Jon had a larger body count, he had endured all the painful scars that marred his body with each one. He had enough visits to the Baratheon's private doctor to the point where they were on a first name basis. Jon didn’t mind the pain, not after all this time. It reminded him that he was human, something he needed far more than he’d like to admit.

 

He moved to scratch his beard, a nervous habit he was still trying to gain control of.  The closer they got to the building the more consuming this feeling got, his instincts told him to run. That they should turn back, review the plan and try again in two months when Aerys visited again. Baratheon wouldn't go for it though, he wanted this man’s blonde head on a stake as soon as possible. The sooner the body dropped, the better. He'd probably cut Jon's pay in half and assign him to two more vigorous jobs just for even asking the question.

 

Maragarey glanced at the two of them from the front seat but didn't say anything. Whatever she was thinking, Jon was grateful for her not commenting. He was too far gone in thought to maintain any kind of conversation right now.    

 

His gaze flickered from Margarey and back to the van. eyes raking over the interior of the van, studying its details. They had disguised it simply, white and common. Something people would barely acknowledge let alone look twice at.

 

He thought it was stupid, they should've taken the SUV but Robb insisted and unfortunately, Baratheon put him in charge of the hit. So they did, despite Jon's protests. A van was common but still, it'd be the first thing that someone would recognize to hide a potential threat if something went wrong. It had enough space to hide weapons and plans, it'd be the first place any cop or anyone of Aerys’ underlings would suspect.

 

His eyes traveled over it's contents. The computer on the counter behind Robb, weapons hidden in the cabinets above it. On the top of the counter were a few discarded papers around the technological device, miscellaneous files in case anyone got nosy. The important documents were underneath the driver seat, only the three of them could get to it.

 

He and Robb sat on two crates in the back, Jon looked over to his older brother and watched as he traced the blueprint of the bar and the building directly across from it with his fingers. He had his gear in a duffel bag to his right, probably his usual anti-material rifle. Maybe even an M21, if he was feeling spontaneous. Jon already knew he wasn’t, spontaneity were for simpler jobs, sure things. Aerys Targaryen was anything but a simple sure job.

 

His gaze traveled over the back of the plans, for such a complex thought process it was a fairly simple strategy.

 

The mad king visited this bar every two months, sat in the same chair and ordered the same drink. He only sat for ten minutes exactly, long enough for him to savor his choice of drink, with three  guards surrounding him. Jon thought it was weird, why go to all the trouble of coming to a bar far from your home only to have a drink you could have made for you in one of your dozen mansions.

 

The wealthy were a hard group to understand.

 

Anyway, his security always confined him in a triangle formation, guarding almost entry point for a stray bullet to pierce through Aery's skull.

 

Jon had observed the mad king's bi-monthly ritual three times before today until his finally found an in. He had learned that if a man had made the decision to sit next to him, Aerys left it alone. He didn't ask him to move or forced him out of the seat, just sat in his usual designated spot and enjoyed his drink. The three body guards filled up as much space as they could but still, it wasn't enough to cover him completely from a shooter like Robb.

 

Jon was shorter than Aerys, his absence of height was enough to make an opening for Robb to get a clean shot at the mad king.

 

A straightforward distract and execute plan.

 

Except it wasn't. Aerys had three highly trained guards by his side, not including his own extensive combat training. Once the bullet pierced the king's skull, they would make a move on the shooter and Jon would have to take them out before they even got a chance.

 

No matter how much Aerys painted himself as a man of unpredictable tendencies to the public, he was a creature of habit. At least in this case, every time he came he always had the same guardsmen with him. He arrived at the same time, in the same model of car and sat in the same place and so on.

 

Jon was lucky enough to have Robert’s tech when it came to identifying the men Aerys traveled with, it took him weeks to get names and a month or two to get information on them.  Aemon Targaryen, Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower. They made up the Kingsguard, Aerys’ most trusted colleagues and they would be difficult to take out. They were all extreme in their combat styles, each one different, each one equally as skilled.

 

Aemon Targaryen was the oldest but also the most experienced. A world class boxer back in the eighties, they called him the King’s Knight. Partly because of his protective manner and honorary fighting style but also because everyone knew he was Aerys’ brother. They had a bond and Jon knew at the end of the day, he’d die for him. Aerys would probably do the same.

 

His age was the only advantage Jon had over him, the man was reaching his sixties. Still, Jon knew he was healthier than a horse and most likely, just as strong. He would have take him out first with a strike to his knee. He shattered it back in 1996 due to ‘mysterious circumstance,’ Jon had his ideas on what the circumstances were but they didn't matter. The shatter ended his career and he moved into Aerys' ranks soon after, but Jon took note of how he treated his left leg, to this day he still moved with a limp.

 

His knee had become his achilles' heel.

 

Jon would hit him there first and then use the gun in his breast pocket to end his life. He was the biggest threat, the most skilled of the three of them so, he’d have to be taken out first. If not, Jon knew he wouldn’t walk out of that bar alive if he let him live longer than a few seconds after Aerys’ death.

 

Arthur Dayne was young but cunning, his fighting experience began when he was twenty one. He had a late start, less experience but a sharp mind. He could think on his feet quickly during messy situations. His height and strength gave him an advantage over Jon but he could make up for it with speed and precision. A few deadly blows to the chest, neck, joints and head could take him down in seconds.

 

Gerold Hightower was new to the kingsguard, replacing his older brother after he died in a shootout. He was a beast, but he was impulsive and let his anger run him. Jon could use that to his advantage, direct his anger in his direction and then move last second and watch as he stumbled like a bull who let red slip from his horns. He would kill him when his back was turned.

 

He was certain that they were all packing heat of some kind, but none of them were particularly skilled with weapons. Thanks to Robb, Jon was and if they drew, he would have to draw quicker.

 

He didn’t like that possibility, killing them so quickly. He liked the fight, he was itching for one after so long. But if it came to that, he would handle it. Robb would probably take another one of them out before disappearing from the roof altogether, it was unlikely Jon would have to fight all of them but if he did, he had to be prepared.

 

They had all different fighting styles, one a master of boxing the other an above average level of jiu jitsu and the last a brute of strength and rage. Jon had to be ready for all of them, he had been pushing his body to the limit for the past eight months so that he could be.

 

They had been bribing the bartender for a few weeks now, opening a college fund for his newborn baby and getting his small family out of there apartment on the southside of King’s Landing.  It was bad neighborhood, Jon’s friend Gendry had grown up there, he heard enough stories to know the reality of living wasn’t pretty. The compensation was enough to convince him to slip something in the drink he gave Aerys.

 

Not poison, Aerys had become immune to a number of them and Jon didn’t know which. A sedative would have to work. He'd be disoriented enough to not be one his a-game, he wouldn’t notice the little red dot like he had done so many times before and then he'd be dead. His guards would follow suit within five to ten minutes, hopefully.

 

Jon would get Aerys' dragon ring from his left hand, that's where Baratheon said it would be. It was the only proof he needed that they had done their job right. Apparently, Aerys had never gona a day without that thing on his finger.

 

Jon didn't care for the sob story behind it all he needed to do was slip it off his finger before they left.

 

They'd be in and out.

 

Fifteen tops.

 

Robb knew his escape route from the Bluebunny Hotel and Jon knew to leave out the back door behind the bar with Grenn, the bartender. There was explosive wiring planted through all the walls of the establishment, courtousy of Gendry. Jon would set them off as soon as they were out and the place would go up in flames. From there Margarey would take off and get them the fuck out of there.

 

Simple.

 

Except it was anything but.

 

As soon as Jon stepped out of the car, that feeling consumed him. He took a deep breath, trying to shake the nerves that had crept up his spin. Fuck, he needed a cigarette but he refused to smoke on the job. Cigarette butts had DNA on them which left a trace. If there was anything Baratheon had taught him, it was too never leave a trace.

 

Ever.

 

Instead his hands moved to his jacket pocket where he felt the comfort of his gun tucked beneath the his blazer.  He’d be fine, they’d be fine, this would work. He didn’t believe the words even as he said it to himself. Not even for a second.

 

He moved his hands from his blazer to adjust the cuffs of his jacket as Robb stepped out behind him.

 

Aerys should arrive in exactly ten minutes. He always came at three p.m. on the dot, never once had he been late.  Jon’s gaze wavered over to his older brother as he slung the duffel over his back. When their eyes met, he felt that feeling wash over him intensely. They shouldn’t do this, but there was no going back.

 

"Be careful" he warned.

 

Robb nodded, "always am brother." He laughed unsteadily, trying to push a cocky grin across his face. He knew it was forced  but didn't say anything, instead he smiled. Or attempted to smile. The gesture felt foreign on his feature, he rarely smiled and the action unsettled them both a bit.

 

He quickly let it fall and the relief that flashed in Robb’s eyes was almost enough to make Jon genuinely smile. Almost.  

 

They exchanged an look, a silent agreement amongst the brothers.

 

It was time.

 

"Take your own advice aye?" Robb told him, breaking the silence. The younger man nodded, hands fumbling with the end of his suit jacket as he did.

 

“Always do.”

 

Robb smiled at his words. Jon could see the worry flash in his eyes before it was gone, just as fast as it had come. Then he was gone, off to the hotel across the street.

 

Jon breathed deeply, trying his best to ignore the shakiness of the action. He ran a hand through his curls before finally pushing him to make his move to the bar.

 

It was just another job, that’s all it was.

 

The bar smelled of cigars and expensive whiskey.  No matter how many times Jon scouted the building out, the pungent odor always took his senses by surprise. It stirred a warm feeling inside his chest, memories of Ned seated in his worn burgundy chair flashed in his mind. A glass of whiskey in one hand, cigar in the other as he stared off into the fire aimlessly.

 

He didn’t do it frequently but there was always something about the look in his eyes, the numb feeling in them that left Jon feeling cold. He shook all thoughts of his dead father away, business and personal endeavors never mixed well, even in the small fragments of distant childhood memories.

 

He made his way to the olive colored bar stool, it was leather and tattered but it felt homely. Like everything else about the place, from the smooth oak wood finish of the counters and tables. To the leather on each and every seat. It felt like some kind of bar you see in the black and white films, a place where criminal organizations would meet in the movies for business. Maybe a game of poker as they built or tore down new and old alliances, straight from the silver screen.

 

Jon loved the feeling this place gave him. He shouldn’t have, the atmosphere shouldn’t have been so inviting. Yet here he was, feeling at ease in the establishment where he planned to kill at least two men in less than twenty minutes.

 

Grenn turned from the bottles displayed behind him and nodded at Jon, pulling a cloth from his shoulder and wiping down a glass in his hands. He was good at this, playing the part. Jon appreciated him not commenting or acting on their familiarity.

 

"Irish whiskey on the rocks" Jon told him, northern accent stronger than usual. His nerves were getting to him, he needed to relax. He breathed in deeply, eyes tracing over the details of the oak wood counter.

 

It was just another job.

 

He replayed the plan and every instant in which they had mapped it out in the back of his mind like a broken record. In and out, in and out. It was that simple. He had to believe it could be that simple.

 

The drink was set down in front of him and Jon thanked Grenn quietly. He brought the glass to eye level, studying the patterns so intricately woven into the glass. It was basic, but it didn’t lack a somewhat classic feel to it.

 

He brought the rim to his lips and allowed the warm brown liquid to flow down his throat. Enjoying the familiar burn it brought with it.

 

He could feel his limbs start to unwind with the familiar comfort of alcohol. An ease he so desperately needed at this point.

 

Jon pulled the glass from his lips, swirling it around carefully as he stared at it. He listened to Grenn as he adjusted a few things in the bar.  The sound the ice clinking against the ends of the glass and the noise that came as containers full of liquid were moved from one place to the next was a strangely comforting one.

 

The place was empty, it had slowly been going out of business over the past few months with the rival bar opening a few blocks away. Despite the old charm it held, it wasn't enough to keep customers coming in especially at , Jon glanced down at his watch and he could feel his heartbeat quicken slightly, three o'clock in the afternoon.

 

He peered towards the glass windows and doors that made up the entrance and the familiar sight of Aery's white escalade, center to two black ones,  pulled into the curb. Jon watched as the Kingsguard exited from each of the vehicles. Arthur from the first black escalade, Gerold from the last and Aemon from the center white one. All dressed in black suits and shoes, the familiar dragon pin of the Targaryen house on each of their lapels.

 

After his brother, came Aerys. Dressed in white, black cane in his right hand. He looked just like the photos, put together and wealthy.

 

Yet he was so much more than that. Jon remembered trying to narrow down a way to take him out months prior, each one seemed hopeless until they formed this one. Even now, it seemed like a feeble attempt. Aerys was a master in hand to hand combat, another reason why Aemon was referred to the King's knight was because the position of the king was already taken. They were legends except Aerys quit to start his business, never injured.

 

From his build, Jon guessed he never actually stopped fighting. Jon's sixteen years of trained combat didn't match Aerys; twenty plus years of them.  A full on fight was idiotic, poison was out of the question as well. Every man Baratheon had sent on the inside of Aerys's had come back dead or scarred beyond recognition both physically and mentally.

 

From Jon's knowledge, Aerys had surved dozens of assassination attempts, they were not the first men to try and kill the mad king. Jon wasn't even sure they would be the last

 

Maybe it was just his doubts getting to him, but whatever it was, he couldn't dwell on it. Jon shoved those thoughts away, turning his attention way from the car as he took another swig of his whiskey.

 

The familiar ring of the bell above the front door filled his ears as he set the drink down. Brooding at it unintentionally, avoiding eye contact was suspicious but he didn't care. One look could have his nerves crashing back into him all at once, he needed to find his calm. His mind wandered to miscellaneous things, trying to form a flimsy excuse to why he was in a bar in the middle of the day instead of at work like any other normal human being. He doubted the topic would arise but it was good way to keep his mind busy.

 

A possible heartbreak, maybe? A tough day on the job and he was on break?

 

Both? Both would suffice.

 

Jon could feel the mad king's presence before the silver haired man took his chance to sit down.   Aerys sat on the stool next to him, exactly as planned. Jon glanced over, curiosity getting the better of him and it was then that he realized the descriptions hadn't done him justice.

 

His sleek silver blonde hair was slicked back in a business casual style, something he must've had professionally done. A thick trimmed beard grew from his face, much like Jon's but more well groomed. He wore an all white crisp suit with no tie and a red and black hankerchief in his breast pocket. Jon recognized it as the symbol of his family, a three headed dragon drenched in blood. Fitting for the Targaryens, a family who associated themselves with dragons and who's motto was literally Fire and Blood.

 

He was taller than Jon, even sitting down he had a few good inches on him but that was good, expected. It gave Robb a good enough opening, he was sure his brother would have no problem taking out their target. Just as the thought passed through his mind, the feeling flushed over him again and Jon looked away from the Aerys.

 

No matter how many case files he studied over or how many blurry photos of the man next to him he saw, none of them could quite capture the well orchaestrated but intimidating energy that exuded off the mad king.

 

The was a bad idea, the plan, it wouldn't work. The thought buzzed in the back of his mind but  he pushed it away as fast as it had come.

 

Jon took note of how the bodyguard moved to the side closest to Aerys instead of blocking Jon.

 

Good.

 

He just needed to relax.

 

"One Old Fashioned Valyrian please."

 

His voice was higher than he imagined, the same octive as Robb's. There was a smoothness in it though, a charisma that masked the evil he was capable of well. It was easy to see how he had fooled the world around him into thinking he was one thing when he was quite the opposite. Having the ability to do that was a dangerous power one could have.

 

Jon hated the feeling that lurched inside him, it felt like fear and worry. Jon hated experiencing either one of those emotions. He brought his glass back to his lips, trying to calm the nervous bouncing of his leg against the chair. He didn't realize he had been doing it.

 

Robb should be in position right about now, any second and the Aerys would be a gone-

 

"Rough day?"

 

Jon blinked, eyes widening a little in surprise at the fact that he was being addressed. Every single time he observed him he never once interacted with anyone besides the bartender when it came to asking for his drink. If Jon had the privilege of being rational, he would chalk it up to Aerys feeling social.

 

But he didn't have that luxury, Jon wanted to send a warning to his comrades but he couldn't. Cursing Robb's radio silence rule considering the possblity of the mad king's men interferring it. He told himself not to panic, not to show any signs of his worry so instead of freezing up,  he pulled his drink away from his mouth and faced the man beside him.

 

"Uh yeah, I guess you could say that." Jon told him, voice clear and strong. Much stronger than he felt.  

 

Aerys turned to fully face Jon and the younger man had to resist the urge to breathe in sharply. He quickly took in the jagged scar that had engraved itself on the left side of Aery's face. He had the stories but shit, he didn't think that it actually be there.

 

It ran across his eye and Jon could make out the milky violet color of his pupil, he was probably blind on that side.

 

If he had known that he could've planned this so much better, having that advantage on their side could've changed the course of the events that were just set into place.

 

However, it wasn't the dead eye that Jon found himself focusing on, the other was a violent shade of violet. It was studying him, calculating him like a machine and when he smiled, a cold unwelcoming smile, Jon knew.

 

They were fucked.

 

Robb should've taken his shot by now, Jon should be fighting off and killing each and every one of his men by now. Where the fuck was Robb?

 

"Well I can't imagine working as a hit man for Robert Baratheon is a walk in the park now is it?" The  mad king stated nonchalantly.

 

Jon felt his blood run cold, his grip tightened on the glass exerting almost enough force to shatter it. He didn't though, besides the whitening of his knuckles Jon kept his cool, gaze narrowing only a little bit.

 

The violence in Aerys' eyes turned cold and steely, charismatic smile never leaving his scarred features.

 

Jon stayed silent and Aerys laughed, a dry bitter sound that left a bad taste in Jon's mouth.

 

"Of course it isn't. Robert can be quite the tyrant when he wants to be." Aerys told him.

 

Jon still didn't dare say anything. He didn't know if it was from the shock or the training instilled in him but unlike his face, Jon's mind was racing a mile a minute. He knew he had done something to Robb. If he was aware of him then he was most likely aware of Margarey and Robb too.

 

"What did you do with Jason McCreed?" He asked, opting to use Robb's alias in case his suspicions were wrong. His voice was cold and detached.  Aerys laughed again at his words, removing a cigar from behind his ear as he did so. Jon hadn't even noticed it.

 

"You mean Robb Stark? Your brother and the only hit man worth a damn that works for Baratheon. Besides yourself of course, Jon Snow."

 

This time, Jon's stomach dropped as a whole new feeling took flight in his being. Aerys had always known of their plans, he knew more about them than they ever would him. Only three people of Jon and Robb's relation in their line of work under Baratheon and that included the brothers. Baratheon was the other one and he wouldn't give that information to Aerys.

 

Yet somehow he knew, their public records had been wiped clean when they started this job. And yet he knew.

 

How long had he known? Were their people following them? Jon would've known. How was this possible?

 

Fear.

 

Fear and Anger was all Jon felt, they coursed through him, pumping violently in his veins.

 

FThey had underestimated him and now, they were going to die.

 

"Jason McCreed? Is that really the best alias Robert can come up with nowadays. How pathetic." Aerys chuckled lowly as Green set the drink down in front of him. The silver haired man lifted it to his lips and a small surge of hope filled Jon.

 

The sedative.

 

Maybe he could take them all out once Aerys had downed his. He had killed ten men at once before, he could do this and then go find his brother before it was too late. It was a childish and unrealistic idea but it was the only one Jon had.

 

All his hope was ripped to pieces when Aerys paused. Looking at the glass in a quizzical manner, shaking it around before frowning.

 

He knew, how he knew, Jon had no idea. But all he knew was that the mad king had always been at least ten steps ahead of them and this was no different.

 

"I don't think I'm in the mood for an Old Fashioned Valyrian right now."

 

Fuck.

 

He should do something, but Jon didn't move. He couldn't fight them all when they were alert like this and if there was even a chance he, Robb and Margarey could make it out of this alive, he needed to be smart. Not impulsive and reckless.

 

Fuck, he knew it was too easy, he knew it was too fucking easy.

 

"Bartender."

 

Jon had forgotten that Grenn was even present, too lost in his own thought to remember his presence. He had been on the other side of the counter, pretending to refill the salt shakers while not so secretly listening to the conversation.

 

Grenn cautiously made his way towards Aerys, the concern hidden from his features ran wild in his eyes.

 

"I think there's something wrong with my drink. Would you mind trying it for me?" He asked, feigned unease laced in his voice.

 

Grenn stared down at the drink, his resolve was cracking. He was just as scared as Jon, if not more so. He certainly had more to lose.

 

"I could just make you another sir." He forced out and Jon could feel the anxiety rising in the both of them as he did so.

 

But Aerys wasn't dumb, far from it. Instead he smiled and shook his head, "that won't be necessary. I insist, drink it. I'm offering you a free drink son. You've been up all day working, I'm sure you could use it. You can make me another after you've finished this one. "

 

Grenn's left hand was shaking, it was hard to notice but Jon saw and if Jon say then so did Aerys. The mad king was growing impatient, he sighed before placing the glass against the counter and sliding it over to him.  

 

"Sir I really would be more comfortable if I could ma-"

 

Aerys frowned at him, pulling a gun from the inside of his jacket out and placing it on the table in front of him.  Barrell facing Grenn and Jon's heart beat quickened, it could be a bluff. The thought was stupid, Aerys wasn't the kind of man to bluff. Then again, he never took gambles he knew he couldn't win.

 

This was one of them.

 

"Drink it."

 

He stared Grenn down, daring him to disobey. Jon moved to sit up but one of them, Gerold and Aemon held him donw in his seat. Grenn's gaze flickered over to him, and back at the drink. Jon felt helpless. The sinking feeling consuming him all at once as he picked up the glass and pulled the drink to his lips.

 

He gulped it down and quickly set it right back down in front of him. Aerys stared at him and so did Jon, waiting for the sedative to kick in. What followed however, was so much worse.

 

After a beat of silence, Grenn broke the tension.

 

"Would you like me to make that drink now si-"

 

The bartender choked on his words, left hand flying to his throat as he began to dry heave.

 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and Jon watched in horror as his body started to convulse, a blood colored foam leaving his lips. It was like watching a seizure consume someone but its effects couldn't be stopped. Green crashed to the ground and he watched as he thrashed and thrashed until it finally came to an earth shattering halt. His chest rose and fell five times before it stopped altogether.

 

Grenn was dead.

 

The sedative, it shouldn't have done that.

 

He looked over to Aerys to see an unamused expression on his face.

 

"Well I guess that's what happens when you mix your poisons."

 

Jon felt the anger rise in him and he moved to attack but once again Aemon and Gerold held him down. Grenn was an innocent, he only wanted a better life for his daughter, Sadie and his wife Charlotte. My god, how would they cope with this? This was his fault, he should've never gotten him involved.

 

"Pity about Grenn. I always liked the drinks he made me. Now, where were we? The subject of your brother yes?"

 

Jon's fist tightened at the mention of Robb. Anger and fear flashed within him at the mention of his blood and his potential fate. What had he done? Jon had heard Baratheon's tales of what Aerys was capable of and up until this very moment, he hadn't believed him. He was wrong to have that doubt. The Mad King had earned his name.

 

"Where is he?" Jon seethed out through gritted teeth.

 

Aerys snapped a finger and the guard to his right, Arthur, handed him a tablet.

 

"I believe I can show you better than tell you my dear boy."

 

Jon felt his chest tighten as Aerys set the device in front of him. He watched in silent fury and fear as the video unfolded in front of him.

 

It was security footage from the Bluebunny hotel. Robb made his way through the back entrance, racing up the service stairs to the roof. He didn't make it very far, a beast of a man stood in front of him while another stood behind him. They dressed in black suits with a tan hankerchief, long braided hair down their backs.

 

The Dothraki.

 

A gang of sorts that Jon had the misfortune of crossing paths with before. One of the only missions that Jon hadn't succeeded in. He was lucky enough to escape their rath with his life, the men of the gang were bred to be killers. Warriors to be more precise but killers all the same. Robb dind't stand a chance.

 

His brother stupidly striked first, only to be blocked. Jon watched as the two dothraki fought him, only for a few seconds before one of them delivered a blow to his head that had him out cold in seconds. From the camera quality, Jon couldn't tell if he was dead or not. He sincerely hoped he wasn't but hope was futile at a time like this.

 

Aerys had killed an innocent man in cold blood, there was nothing that made Jon feel like he wouldn't do the same to his brother.

 

"For someone so skilled, I expected him to put up more of a fight. I can't imagine Baratheon is gonna be happy about this."

 

Aerys smiled at Jon and the younger man could feel every fiber in his being pulse with anger . His gaze flickered back to the now black screen and then to Aerys once again. He hated him, he was sure of it. He had never hated another man more in his life than he hated Aerys Targaryen in that moment.

 

"if you hurt him I swear I-"

 

"Mr. Snow, Mr. Snow, I can assure you have much bigger problems than the welfare of your brother at the moment. I'm positive your car outside will be needing your assistance, especially its driver."

 

Margarey.

 

Fuck.

 

Aemon and Gerold released him and Jon stood abruptly, fist tight as he stood above the silver haied man.

 

"Tic Toc Jon, you can either attempt to kill me and die here, your coworker following suit or you can save a life instead of taking one for once."

 

Aery could be playing him for a fool, for all he knew both Margarey could be dead in a body bag on their way to the middle of the desert. He shouldn't have trusted him at all but if Margarey died because he allowed his emotions to cloud his actions, he could never live with that.

 

He glared in Aerys direction, the man already preoccupied himself with the cuffs of his jacket. Not bothering to seem the least bit amused about the altercation anymore.

 

"You better get going Jon, you don't have much time left until the cops arrive."

 

Jon didn't hear him, thoughts too loud at that point to hear any outside noise. Instead he ran, like his life depended on it. His legs burned by the time he reached the van but something was off, the doors hung slightly open. Jon traced a finger over the dent before pushing the barrier aside completely.

 

Margarey lied on the ground, a gash the size of a quarter formed on the right side of her face. She seemed lifeless and Jon forced himself to swallow the lump forming in his throat and moved to her side. His hands flew to her neck, checking her pulse and thanking the old gods when he felt the faint beat of her vein.

 

She was alive.

 

His arms tucked underneath her body and he hoisted her up into his arms. Jon's gaze flickered to the black duffel bags he hadn't noticed. A brick of white wrapped in plastic crossed his gaze and Jon swore under his breath.

 

Aerys had set them up. That's why he told him to hurry before the cops had gotten here. He wasn't letting him go, he was just disposing him in another way. The Mad King had always been ten steps ahead.

 

Think fast, he had to think fast.

 

His eyes searched his surroundings until he spotted it, a hair salon a few storefronts away. He'd have to leave her there, she'd be safe with the women he hoped.

 

Jon ran, careful not to bump into anything as he made his way to the storefront. He used Margareys feet to push open the glass door, the bell ringing overhead gained the attention of a few woman. The unconscious blonde in his arms gained the attention of the rest.

 

"Call an ambulance!" Jon screamed before gently placing Margarey's body on a waiting chair. he didn't wait for anyone to answer before he bolted from the beauty shop.  

 

Their fingerprints were all over that van, they could tie the drugs to all of them and lock them all up in a cell for life. If there  was even a chance that Robb was alive, Jon refused to let the three of them rotfor a crime they didn't commit. Especially when they all had gotten away with much worse, he was not going to jail for possession with intent to distribute. None of them were.

When he reached the van, he closed the side door and took Margarey's spot in the front, the keys had miraculously remained in the ignition and Jon was glad that at least something was going right today. He slid in to the front seat, left hand slamming the door behind him.

 

His hand moved to travel beneath the it, grabbing the USB from its place taped underneath the seat. The information on this could take not only them down but Baratheon too, he took the drive and tucked it into his jacket before starting the van.

 

Jon's ears perked at the distant sound of sirens, he couldn't panic. Not now. He had to think.

 

Think, Think. He chanted in his head, he needed to get rid of this van.

 

Then he remembered, The Westeroi Bridge they crossed on the way here. Placed right on top of the bay. It had to be a few blocks away from here, he could make it.

 

Jon pressed on the gas hard, turning the car around with enough force to almost knock him from his seat. The increased speed of the vehicle made his stomach feel like it was flying in his torso but he couldn't focus on that right now. He needed to get the car in the bay and he needed to get it in there now.

 

Jon swerved through ongoing traffic, dodging cars left and right whilst silently thanking the universe for not letting him.

 

The sirens grew louder and louder and Jon could see the flash or red and blue from his rear view mirror. Relief flushed through his entire being when he finally crossed onto the bridge, rush hour had ended and now only a few straggle of cars lied on it.

 

Jon was thankful, he wasn't sure how far he could push his luck in a trafficked area at the speed he was going. Yet he still needed to go faster if he was gonna push through the gate and send it flying into the sea below. Jon's left hand found it's way to the handle of his door and his foot pressed harder on the gas.

 

He'd have to jump.

 

He could do this.

 

So close, so fucking close

 

The moment struck him and pulled on the handle and pushed himself out of the vehicle with barely anytime to spare.

 

A sharp pain erupted in his side as he hit the ground. A flash of white blonde clouded his vision for only a second before his eyes opened again. The world was blurry around him, pain overtaking all of his sense.

 

The sound of a distant splash brought a smile to the weakened man's face, a smile that quickly faded when he spotted the hazy outline of a cop car stop right in front of him.

  


Jon doesn't know how long he lied there before unfamiliar hands pull his arms behind him, sending sharper pains throughout his body. He cried out, he had only been on the ground for a few seconds but it felt like hours. His face was forced deeper into the warm black road as the cold, harsh and unforgiving metal of handcuffs enveloped around his wrist.

 

"You are under arrest for destruction of public property and resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

 

Jon blacked out before he could hear the rest.                                                                                                                                                      



	2. Darry's Diner and Jon's Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its been months, I know, I suck balls. But here's an update a.k.a. the first official chapter, sorry for the long wait.

**_Three Years Later_ **

  
  


"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Daenerys paced the bathroom floor, hands covering her forehead as she tried to calm herself. 

 

He had to have switched them with something else and she knew it. He had to. After years of taking her birth control, the same exact kind, the same way everyday at the same fucking time she knew what it tasted like when it touched her tongue. She knew the exact  texture of the tiny pill and whatever this was, it wasn't it. He must've done it during her visit with Robert, he paid the most money and for some reason, Drogo viewed him as a threat. Unfortunately, not enough to stop providing service to him that is. 

 

He always got one full night  and paid triple that of any of her other clients. He wasn't a very kind man, he was rough and only cared about his pleasure and the perception of her own. Never the reality but then again, most men who requested her services did. 

 

Robert always stayed in a suite in the city when he asked for her, it always had a beautiful view that reminded her of Dragonstone, the island she was born on. He never forced her to stay with him after and then he dozed off like the drunken man he was. It left her time to explore, to sit and make some tea. To enjoy the few hours of peace she had before one of the the Dothraki men who stayed posted outside forced her out and back to Drogo. 

 

Every man who lied with her was required to wear a condom but the birth control was an extra and necessary precaution. 

 

She supposed her husband had done it because he was jealous, he always had this thing about claiming her for his own. He never wore a condom and perhaps the extra contraceptive was more than a precaution. A reassurance that she would never have his child. 

 

It was funny how he resorted to things like this, if he wanted her to be his so badly forcing her into this line of work seemed redundant. The money paid good but afterwards he grew harsh and cold with her. There was a time she mistook his rare affections as love. There was a time where she thought she loved him too. 

 

She hadn’t, not then and not now. 

 

She had been just a foolish naive girl who craved loved so badly she took it wherever she could find it. So much had changed since the year she married him. Maybe it was his revenge for trying to run away so many times.

 

Or revenge for sleeping with Daario. Although killing him should've been enough. Daario had joined the Dothraki after falling into the arms of a woman who belonged to the gang. She died and it left him a broken man. Yet, he was kind or at least kinder to her than Drogo is. They found solace in one another, a temporary distraction from their realities. She cared for him and he cared for her but it was never love. 

 

Drogo used her and then wouldn't spare her a second glance afterwards. He viewed her as an object of sexual desire and nothing else. 

 

He didn't love her. She didn’t think he ever had.

 

But maybe Daario did, or maybe he was just the only man who had ever come close. He was kind enough for her to fall into bed with him. He made her feel something outside of pain when he touched her. For a few fleeting moments, he made her feel loved and wanted. 

 

Feeling wanted was a rarity in her life. 

 

After they were discovered, Drogo shot him dead without a hint of remorse and told her of a punishment she would have to endure. 

 

Since she wanted to be a whore, he would treat her like one. 

 

So here she was, desperately searching for her birth control pills after a night with her husband. She wouldn’t have his child, no matter how much he wanted it she just wouldn’t. Not after last time. 

 

Daenerys hated him, it was something she was sure of but disobeying him or attempting to run was pointless. She had learned her lesson the first time. It was a miracle that he hadn’t attacked her for having the contraception in the first place. 

 

He just needed to think she wasn’t on it anymore, she had to conceal it better next time. For right now, this was the life she had to push herself to endure. 

 

Fuck! It wasn't here and Drogo would be suspicious if she spent too much time in here.  

 

Gods, she couldn't have another baby. Not after Rhaego, not after what had happened to him. 

 

She inhaled deeply, suddenly remembering Irri. Drogo trusted her enough to let her leave the house with just her. He didn’t know of the extent of their bond and for that she was grateful. She would die for Irri and Irri would do the same for her. Irri knew how much she suffered the first time and she wouldn’t let it happen again. 

 

She would help her, take her to get a new prescription and a few morning after pills. 

 

She exhaled deeply, turning the sink water on and running her heated hands under the cool water. She splashed the substance over the  flushed skin of her face, breathing in deeply afterwards in an effort to regain some kind of composure. 

 

When she looked up at her reflection she tried not to wince. She looked tired, so tired and so unlike the hopeful girl she once knew. 

 

Her once long silver blonde hair was short and brown now, a style that Drogo found more appealing. He convinced her to dye it in the early stages of their relationship at a time where she would’ve done anything for him. Now she kept it this color so he wouldn’t find a flaw in her appearance and get angry. Her once babyish features had matured now as she entered her early twenties. 

 

Her skin had tanned slightly under the Essoian sun, the only thing that could still give her away were her eyes. Crystalized violets, something a stranger she couldn’t remember told her as a child. For some reason, it had stuck with her. 

 

She shook the thought away, he was waiting. 

 

She turned and reached out for the door handle, allowing her fingers to hesitate over the metal. Just for a moment. 

 

Slowly, she breathed in and breathed out, she could do this. She had been doing this and there was no reason she should stop now. Finally, she pulled the door open. 

 

Drogo stared at her from the other side of their room, finishing the last few buttons on his shirt as he did so. His gaze was cold and unforgiving but she had grown accustomed to it over the past few months.

 

"My sun and stars, I've made plans to visit my sister's grave this morning. May Kovarro accompany me?" She asked, voice much stronger than she actually felt. 

 

Daenerys didn't like Kovarro, he was eerily quiet and cold. He reminded her too much of Drogo. She didn't want to be around him but Drogo didn't know that. Requesting his presence would raise suspicion and she knew he would do the opposite then choose him to go with her.

 

In truth, she never had a sister or any family that she can remember but Drogo didn't know that. He had lost a sister once so whenever she spewed that bullshit lie, he never questioned it. He didn’t truly care, at least not enough to go with her but enough to allow her visits under supervision. Funny how he so easily believed her family member’s could be buried here even though she was from Dragonstone. Another thing she was grateful she didn’t disclose to him at an earlier time in their relationship. 

 

Maybe she had and he just didn’t bother to listen.

 

Usually she went with Irri or Rakharo, although she loved Rakharo like a brother she knew he would never grant her what she would ask of him. He, like Drogo, believed her sister was buried here. He takes her to stare at a random unmarked grave she selected on a whim the first time he accompanied her. The only reason she’d request to go with him was to find peace. Even if it was amongst the dead.

 

Irri was loyal to her Khal but her allegiances always lied with Daenerys. She was the only one left that the young woman truly trusted and who she knew would help her with this and anything else. 

 

"Take Irri, back in hour." He told her gruffly and she nodded, moving to the closet and waiting only until she could hear his footsteps leaving the room altogether before slipping out of her thin robes and into a pair of jean shorts and a discarded tee shirt she hadn't worn in the weeks. 

 

She shoved her feet into the combat boots Missy had given her a few years before. She wondered how her foster sister was doing, it had been years since the last time she saw her. She hoped she was okay. 

 

Daenerys liked to imagine that she found happiness and love like she dreamed of in the poems that she used to share with her. Missandei had one of the kindest souls that she had ever known. Daenerys hoped that despite the rough start life had given her, she found the happiness and ease that they both had so desperately craved. 

 

She made her way back to their bathroom, wincing a little with every step. Drogo had not been kind to her the night before.. Daenerys had learned long ago not resist his abuse, it only made the outcome worse. She moved to pull her hair behind her back, the bruises along the sides of her neck told her it wasn't the best idea. 

 

He always left marks, unwanted bruises and scars that littered her body like birthmarks at this point. She remembered being adopted by him when she was seventeen and for one moment, Daenerys felt like her life would finally be okay. Like she would finally be okay. 

 

She was wrong, Drogo had manipulated her. She was so young and stupid and he knew that. Convinced her he loved her and she believed him, she wanted it to be true so badly that she agreed to marry him when she turned eighteen and that she did. Drogo was good at faking false kindness until he got what he wanted. She had wanted to be Cinderella and for him to be Prince Charming. People weren’t nice to her growing up, it was hard to differentiate the genuine from the false at that age.  She had never known either from a man with any kind of attraction to her. 

 

They had always been so cruel to her, so cold. Drogo had seemed different. 

'

She hated him even more for turning out to be more of the same. At least the men before hadn’t bothered to hide their brutality, they hadn’t pretended to be something they weren’t. That was the worst part, giving her false hope only to have it ripped away in an instant. 

 

The wet sensation of tears cascading down her cheeks shook her from her thoughts as she stared at the broken woman before her. 

 

Was this all she was? 

 

Was this all life had to offer her? 

 

Was this all she deserved? 

 

Her body didn't feel like her own and the person staring back at her felt like a stranger. 

 

What was the point of enduring any of this? There was no way out and there would never be a way out and she knew that. Hoping for something different would be just as naive as seeing the good in her husband. 

 

Feeling panic rise in her chest, she breathed in. Ignoring the emotional anguish that had risen in her chest as she wiped away her tears.

 

She just needed to go to the pharmacy, that's it. Not cry and overthink. Thinking too much was never a good thing. 

 

Slowly she pulled herself together, walking out of the bathroom and moving to grab her black hoodie from the dresser before leaving the room.  

 

She ignored the looks from her husband’s associates as she stepped out, especially the ones that made her skin crawl. Irri was waiting for her by the front door and she offered a close mouthed smile when she saw her. 

 

"Khal says you wanna visit your sister?" She questioned, raised her eyebrow knowingly but the brunette shrugged, giving her a look and Irri nodded in understanding. 

 

She moved to open the door, Daenerys closed it behind them. 

 

It was fall and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, rain soaked this part of the country this time of year and Daenerys loved it. It wasn’t raining now but she could feel the electric charge of lightning stirring in the air above and it made her feel, she didn’t know how to describe it. It made her feel alive. 

 

The cool chill of Khal country seeped into her bones and she smiled at the smell of fresh air, the possibility of freedom. 

 

She followed Irri to Rokharro’s black pickup truck and didn't hesitate in getting the passenger seat. 

 

She felt safe here, in Irri's presence. It was one of the only places she felt felt safe. 

 

"Spill" Irri told her once she slammed the door behind her. 

 

"I just, I need to make sure that I'm not pregnant. Drogo, he must've found my birth control because the pill I took this morning, it wasn't it." She breathed out, avoiding her gaze as she fumbled with the ends of her fingertips. She could feel the anger Irri had radiating off her but she remained silent.

 

They sat there in silence as Daenerys tried to think of words to say that could ease her mind but none came. She was trying not to panic, she couldn’t go through that again. Rhaego had been her everything when she was seventeen. She did anything and everything to ensure his comfort in her belly, she dreamed of him and she thought that finally, she’d have the family she’d always wanted. 

 

Only to lose it all in a second. 

 

She couldn’t and wouldn’t go through that again. 

 

"If you want to get away from all this. We can Dan-" She knew what she was suggesting but it wouldn’t work. They both knew it. 

 

"Remember what happened last time, we haven't seen Doreah in months and the scars on your chest have just barely healed." She reminder her, cutting off the idea before it could spread any further. It was a year ago but the memory was still fresh in her mind. It plagued her most nights when she slept.  

 

"Doreah is fine Dany." Irri told her but she could hear the uncertainty in her tone. 

 

"You don't know that. I'm not going to risk it, I've never seen Drogo that angry before and I don't plan on seeing him that angry again." She told her and Irri sighed. 

 

"You know if we wanted to, we could just leave right now. Never turn back and just keep driving." 

 

The idea was nice, so simple and easy. Reality was not. 

 

"No we couldn't, Drogo keeps a tracker in every single vehicle the Dothraki have so he can always have eyes on what's his. We wouldn't get past the state bo-"

 

"Gods, you just love poking holes in my illogical plans don't you?" Irri joked bitterly. 

 

Daenerys laughed at that, "Yeah, I guess so." 

 

She hadn't laughed in days, maybe weeks. Drogo was feeling especially cruel lately, most likely because of the fact that the anniversary of her miscarriage was coming up. Ever since she lost Rhaego, life had become more difficult. Drogo started to show his true colors and Daenerys quickly lost the idea that she had escaped something when she came to him. Just found herself a new prison to dwell in. 

 

It had been years since his death and it seemed like neither one of them had truly healed from it. 

 

The drive to town was slow and quiet, peaceful even. Irri always humored her and took the always took the scenic route on the rare occasion they were let out together. She loved the forest, the beautiful trees that towered over the roads they drove through. It was nice, a comfort she enjoyed. A feeling of ease washed over her and Daenerys reveled in it. 

 

Her hand found its way outside of the window and she weaved it through the wind, enjoying the humid air against her skin.  

 

Irri didn't talk much and she was grateful for it. She had time to just, be. At least, for a moment.

 

It was something she used to take for granted and now, it was her only complete and utter solace. Unfortunately, she had to interrupt. Make sure Irri knew what the plan was. 

 

"The cemetery’s only a few blocks from the clinic a-" 

 

"I know the drill Dany, we’ll get you some more birth control and some morning afters to be safe. Park in the graveyard so if anyone drives past, they’ll think we’re there" Irri finished for her and Daenerys nodded, mumbling a small yeah in response. 

 

Silence enveloped them once again and the peace she once felt returned. The cool autumn weather was a nice relief from the usual blistering heat. 

 

They pulled into the cemetery on the outskirts of town and climbed out once it was parked in a visible position. The sooner they got this over with the better. 

 

She and Irri walked quietly towards town, the place was pretty deserted this time of year but she didn’t mind. Silence was a nice change from the chaos she was used to being around, it was comforting.  The ma and pop shops were closed, all except for Darry’s probably. It was sunday, a day for worship of the gods and people took that pretty seriously around here. She supposed it was luck that Drogo decided to fuck without her contraceptives on a holy day. 

 

She didn’t need him finding out, he’d punish Irri for defying him and she was already sure she’d lost one friend to his wrath. She couldn’t lose another. 

 

They turned the block towards the town clinic. Rose’s, it didn’t seem like a fitting name for its purpose but it was owned by Tyrell Corporations and they had their hand in everything including ridding women of embryos. They’re whole thing was roses and other variations of flowers. At least that’s what Drogo told her when he openly discussed his plans for world domination with her. Now there was just silence. 

 

In the early days of their relationship, he had made her feel happy. Or the closest thing she had ever been to it. He taught her a bit of his native tongue and he was caring. In his own rough way, he made her feel alive with the wildness behind his eyes. He taught her to cook and how to hold a gun. He took her out to see the world and she loved him. Well, she loved the feeling he gave her. 

 

Then she was pregnant and they were married. And they were happy. 

 

Then she wasn’t pregnant and they weren’t happy. 

 

Daenerys pushed the thoughts of her past away as they stepped inside. It was pristine and white, smelling of flowers and cleanliness. For some reason, the scent made it a little easier for her to breathe. 

 

Jhiqui was sitting behind the counter in her scrubs, absentmindedly checking something off her clipboard. The ding of the bell above the door caught her attention and when she saw the two of them, she smiled and Daenerys returned the gesture. The urge came naturally and she didn’t have to force it in the way she was used to.

 

Jhiqui was good. She was one of the few good people Daenerys had ever come across in her lifetime, she had a gentle heart and a kinder soul. She made people feel safe, she gave them hope for a brighter and better future when she smiled as they said goodbye to one version of their future. Making it a little easier to embrace the one they still had to face. 

 

She knew that Jhiqui had been dealt with similar cards herself but she escaped and she got out. 

 

Jhiqui gave Daenerys hope. 

 

“Hi, what can I do for you?” She asked, voice gentle and smooth with genuine concern laced in her tone. 

 

“Drogo, he-he switched my birth control. I was wondering if I could get a new supply of my old ones and some morning after pills?” 

 

She hated her stutter, she hated it. She only did it when her emotions grew overwhelming for her like right now. Thinking about Rhaego always did that to her. At least she could think his name without breaking down now. One day, she might even be able to say it. 

 

“Can you pay?” Jhiqui asked softly, a question she knew the answer to but still asked anyway. 

 

“No, I just-I need them.. Drogo he-last night he-I just, I need them.” Dany forced out and Jhiqui looked at her, not out of pity but understanding. She never saw any of the money Drogo received from her work and when they went out, or when they used to go out, he always took care of the bill. 

 

She thought it was romantic then and now she just, she doesn’t know what to think of that gesture. 

 

“Okay, I got you.” 

 

Relief flooded through her system again as the brown skinned girl turned away from them and disappeared from view into the back room. She didn’t deserve someone like Jhiqui, she’d have to pay her back. One day, she would figure out how. 

 

Before Dany cheated, Drogo had only forced himself on her once. Their wedding night but Dany had chopped it up to him just...being eager. 

 

But after Daario, he made it a point to make her suffer whenever he wanted her. 

 

So she started coming here, for the past six months she came here and every time, Jhiqui never judged her. Never asked questions Daenerys couldn’t answer. Never thought twice about helping her. Even if it came from her own pockets. She helped her in every way she could and Daenerys had never been so grateful for another human being besides Doreah and Irri.

 

Now, Doreah was gone and Daenerys rather die than put the remaining two in harm’s way. 

 

Jhiqui had no ties to the Dothraki and that made coming to her a lot easier. She wasn’t in as much danger by helping her like Irri was, it made her feel somewhat better about reaching out. She wasn’t even sure she wanted Irri to help her like this but she was the one who brought her here the first time. She made it a point to take her whenever she needed to go. 

 

Irri was probably the closest thing Daenerys would ever have to a sister. She loved her like one and if anything happened, she would grieve her like one. 

 

Maybe then, when she told Drogo she needed to visit the grave of a dead sister, she’d mean it. 

 

She prayed to the gods that day would never come. 

 

The longer Jhiqui took, the more anxious Daenerys grew. They needed to hurry, the town was empty but the windows made them visible. They couldn’t be here longer than necessary, the longer they were here, the greater the risk of someone seeing them.

 

Anxiety started to rise in her chest as she waited for her to return. Fuck, what if she knew him? What if she’s been loyal to him this whole time and-stop! Breathe Daenerys, breathe. She needed to remember to breathe. 

 

When Jhiqui finally did come back, ease flooded through her system and a bit of embarrassment from her conclusions stained her cheeks red. Jhiqui handed the small white bag to Irri who then put it in her own. 

 

“Daenerys, if you need anything else. Just-I’m here okay.”  Jhiqui told her and a small smile spread across her face as warmth enveloped her chest with her words. It was nice to know that the whole world isn’t against you. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

For everything. 

 

She wanted to say that and more but the words got caught in her throat and instead, all she could do was nod. The brown skinned girl gave her this look, this look that told her she understood and that everything would be okay. Daenerys wondered how she could do something like that? Ease someone’s entire being with a single look. 

 

Or maybe she was choosing to see that in her eyes. Choosing to believe that she knew it would be okay. She ended up okay after all. 

 

It saddened Daenerys to know that someone like her could understand so much of her situation. Who would want to hurt someone so good and kind? Then again, explaining the actions of cruel men is never an easy thing to do. 

 

She hoped that her eyes could convey the words she couldn’t say. Reluctantly she turned away from her and walked out the door with Irri, hand in hand. 

 

The tightening in her chest that had made a home of itself for the past few hours eased itself as she clutched onto her friend’s hand. She was going to be okay, at least for now. She had to believe that right? Its funny, Daenerys can’t remember a day for the past four years where she didn’t force herself to believe that. 

 

“Have you eaten today?” The question pulled her from her thoughts and she turned to Irri. The Dothraki girl stared right back, concern laced in her brown eyes. It was better not to lie, not now. Daenerys shook her head no. 

 

Her mind had been too focused on the impending consequences of living without her birth control to really take the thought of eating something into consideration. 

 

“Come on, I think Darry’s is still open. I know Willem would like to know you’re doing okay.” 

 

Daenerys nodded, Willem was one of the few people in this town who treated her like a human being. There were a few people back on the land who did too but very few really cared for her or showed her the same kindness that he had. He was the closest thing to a father figure she had ever had, always gracious and gentle with her. When she first came here, he always gave her an extra scoop in her ice cream sundaes the few times Drogo would take her inside. 

 

His own little way of telling her to hang in there, apparently everyone knew of Drogo’s cruelty back then. Except for her that is. 

 

They walk to the diner was only a few blocks. She didn’t mind the distance, it had been awhile since she was outside this unsupervised for so long. It was nice, like a feeling of freedom that she hadn’t realized she had missed so much.

 

When she was a girl, claustrophobia would threaten to swallow her whole. She hated tight spaces, it made her feel trapped. It’s disappeared for the most part, crazy how she learned you can have all the room in the world and still feel like a caged animal. At least she could breathe a little better like this. 

 

The familiar red paintings of the glass door brought a smile to her face. She used to dream of a house with a red door back when she was moving foster family to foster family as a girl. A red door that lead to permanence and security with people who loved her no matter what. A place of warmth and happiness. 

 

Now it seemed like the front door of Derry’s was the closest she would ever get. 

 

Irri’s hand reached out to push it open and it closed once they both were inside. Daenerys couldn’t help but smile when she walked in. Willem was a man who enjoyed the aesthetic of previous decades. The fifties the most, he says it was the best time of his life. The only way it could’ve been better was if it lacked the blatant discrimination of minorities. 

 

Yet, he met and fell in love with his wife.  A late Dothraki woman by the name of Cora, Daenerys had only seen her once before she passed. Beautiful, dark skinned with the prettiest hazel eyes she had ever seen. Even if she hadn’t known her that well, she could tell her outer beauty reflected what remained within.  

 

Apparently, they met in the era Willem based the restaurant so she guessed a few good things came from that time. 

 

Plus the aesthetic was nice. 

 

Her violet gaze fluttered over the establishment and the brief relief she felt drained as she looked over to a booth. One man in the back corner booth, black curly hair on display as he sat with his back towards them. She didn’t recognize the stature and he was much too pale to be one of Drogo’s men. 

 

Or at least, that’s what he would want her to assume. 

 

“Dany!” Her gaze shifted from the stranger and towards Willem as he made his way towards them. Her hand slipped from Irri’s as she moved to open up her arms for the elderly man approached. 

 

“Willem.” She laughed lightly as he pulled her into a warm embrace. He smelled of chocolate and french fries and she was so happy. 

 

“How are you sweet girl?” He said pulling away and her smile faltered at the question. How was she? 

 

She was never that good of a liar. She had improved over the years in order to survive but when it came to the people she truly cared about, it was difficult. Almost impossible. 

  
“I’m still standing.” She told him truthfully, avoiding the question but still saying enough.  A sadness washed over his eyes and she regretted the word choice instantly. She should’ve tried to lie, he doesn’t need to be so worried about her. 

 

“I know sweet girl, I know you are.” He murmured softly and she tried not to let her composure slip away completely. 

 

He stared at her and for a moment, she wondered what it would’ve been like to be his daughter? She wondered if he had children? The way he looked at her sometimes is how she imagined a father to look at his daughter when he wanted better for her. 

 

Maybe it was just in her head. She was thinking too much and she reminded herself that thinking too much was never a good thing. 

 

“How about I get you your favorite? Big plate of crispy fries and an ice cream sundae. Extra scoop.” . 

 

The fact that he remember almost brought tears to her eyes. Instead of crying, she just nodded and he smiled warmly at her one last time before easing himself from her grasp and making his way behind the counter and into the kitchen. 

 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom okay.” Irri told her once he was gone and Daenerys nodded. 

 

She watched her friend walk away, gaze moving from her retreating figure and towards the man she spotted earlier. 

 

He turned his head to the side slightly and she knew he was listening. From what she could tell, he was young. Maybe a few years older than her, a patchy beard on his face and a somewhat sharp jawline. He looked away before she could examine him any further. She didn’t know him and she had never seen him. 

 

That doesn’t mean that Drogo hasn’t. 

 

Inhaling shakily, she made her way to the man who could have easily been spying on her for her husband. She wouldn’t put it past him, he viewed her more as property to be watched and maintained than a human being who needed to be loved and cared for. 

 

She could hear the sound of her boots against the tile floor as she walked and she knew he could to. 

 

She made it a point to stop next to him, ignoring the ruffle of nerves igniting in her stomach in his presence. 

 

Daenerys placed a hand on his table and he looked up to meet her gaze. When he did, she felt her stomach drop at the sight of his stormy greys. 

 

He was...fuck. 

 

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep and gruff and it sent shivers down her spine. For a second her brain short circuited as she stared at him. Gods, he was beautiful. Ridiculously so and she was not prepared for that. Not one bit. She bit her lip as she stared at him. 

 

He shouldn’t have been that attractive. Not to her. If Drogo knew...shit, that’s why she came over here. Her lip fell from between her teeth and she inhaled deeply. 

 

“Tell Drogo that Irri and I just got back from the cemetery. We just wanted to get something to eat that’s all.” She explained as calmly as she possibly could. Her voice was much steadier and more confident than she felt.

 

His eyebrow quirked in confusion, “what?” 

 

Playing dumb huh? 

 

“Tell Drogo that-” 

 

“No I heard what you said, I just have no idea why you said it. I don’t know a Drogo or an Irri or you for that matter.” He answered and Daenerys tried not to focus on the way his lips moved as he talked, they were so...pretty. 

 

“Look, whatever game this is to you or him I-” 

 

“It’s not a game. Trust me, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He interrupted.

 

Something in his expression, amusement and confusion told her he was genuine and she was mortified. 

 

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I-I didn’t k-” 

 

“It’s fine..umm-” 

 

“Daenerys, Daenerys Storm.” She said, holding out her hand for him to shake. Who shakes hands anymore? She should take it back, but it’s too late and it’s already out and she didn’t want to seem like a flake. So, she’s doing this now. Yep. 

 

He looked down at it and smiled. Her heart fluttered at the action and when he took her hand in his, warmth and calm flooded through her. 

 

“Jon. Jon Snow.” 

 

Snow? A northern name. What was a northerner doing in Essos of all places? Gods, how had she not realized he had an accent until now? 

 

“Do you want to sit?” 

 

It was a strange offer considering they were strangers. 

 

She should’ve said no. It was dangerous but the curtains were closed so no one could walk by and see them. If Drogo got word of this, she-his gaze didn’t falter but her reasoning and paranoia did. Just for a second. 

 

“You don’t have to.” 

 

“No!” Too much, too loud. 

 

“I meant, okay I’ll sit.” 

 

He smiled in return and just for a second, she forgot about all the horrors of the world around her. Because she was here and so was he and for some reason, even though she had no idea who this man was, she couldn’t think of a single problem with the current circumstance. Not one. 

<


End file.
